The Doomed Closet of Darkness
by KleeZeeNex
Summary: Neal and Peter need their space. Too bad they're trapped in a. . . . wherever they are. I don't know. It depends on who you ask.


**A/N: My last White Collar fanfic was so fun, I had to write another one. It's nothing major, just me having a laugh. Hope you do, too. Laugh, I mean. Not... whatever else I could have meant.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar. The fic, though? That's mine. AAAALLLLL MMMIIINNNNEEE...**

* * *

"Where are we?"

"I don't know, Peter. Why don't you pull up my tracker?"

"That's not funny."

"I was going more for sassy."

"Don't make me shoot you, Caffrey."

"You can't shoot if you can't see."

"You're right. I'll just have to slap you."

"That's right, Peter. Follow the sound of my voice. All the way to the other side of The Doomed Closet of Darkness."

"You don't know we're in a closet."

"I know we fell through the floor. And I landed in a bucket full of water. We're in a maintenance closet."

"You think you're so smart. This coming from the guy who ran into a pitch-black building with no power."

"I _saw_ the suspect go in here."

"You didn't _see _anything. The whole block had no power."

"You ran in here, too."

"To get you! Because if you fall down an elevator shaft and break your neck, I have to deal with a lot of paperwork."

"Well great job, Peter. You only let me fall through a faulty ceiling. And got us trapped in a locked closet."

"_Alleged_ closet. Don't you have your phone on you?"

"Yes. I could fish it out of the mop bucket if you like."

"Perfect. Yours is fried and mine is crushed."

"Crushed?"

"I kind of landed on it."

"Nice job."

"Shut up."

"That's mean."

"I'm serious, Neal. I heard something."

"Is it the suspect?"

"First of all, how would I know that? Second of all, shut up."

"What if he has a gun?"

"Neal, _I_ have a gun."

"Like I said, you can't shoot in the-"

"Neither can the suspect!"

"Now who's being sassy? It's about time I rubbed off on you."

"Trust me, I hate myself."

"That hurt, Peter."

"You know what hurt? Falling ten feet onto a concrete floor. That hurt."

"Boo hoo, Peter. At least you're dry."

"Did you not hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"That!"

"Oh... It sounds like footsteps."

"Could be. We're sitting ducks in here. Can't you pick the lock or something?"

"Sure, Peter. Would you like me to use the tools I left sitting on my nightstand or can I just whip out the plastic explosive I carry with me everywhere I go?"

"You don't have to be snippy about it."

"Why don't you just shoot your way out of here?"

"Maybe if we just stay quiet until the FBI pulls up your tracker and finds us, we'll be okay."

"How exact is that tracker, Peter? There are locked rooms all over this building."

"How would you know that? I'll say it again: We can't see!"

"Buildings that have maintenance closets are buildings that have rooms to clean."

"Except that we might not be in a... Oh, forget it. Fine, Neal. What do we do?"

"We get out."

"I think the C4 might take us with the door."

"Cute, Peter. That rhymed and everything. Let's just get out the way we got in."

"... Through the ceiling."

"Very good."

"You're crazy."

"So I've heard. Come on, just give me a boost."

"For the last time, Neal, _I can't see you_."

"For the last time, Peter, get over it. Use your other senses. I'm coming toward you."

"This is a horrible idea."

"Do you want me to boost you?"

"No, thank you. Here, find my hand."

"Whoa! You're not frisking me, here, Peter."

"Excuse me. Okay, is that your hand?"

"Yeah. And that's my foot."

"Okay. Step up."

"Got it."

"Ow. Ow! _Ow!"_

"Sorry. I'm almost there. Just a little farther..."

"How's that?"

"Got it. Wow, we left a big hole."

"Be careful. That floor is rotted."

"You think so?"

"I'm just saying. Hurry up, will you? I think you've put on a few pounds."

"Do you want me to hurry or be careful?"

"Just don't fall on me."

"Your concern touches me."

"Are you up?"

"Yeah. Let go."

"Okay. Is it holding?"

"Yup. I'm clear. Just sit tight and I'll come down and get you out."

"How?"

"Oh, I'll think of something."

"Seriously, Neal. If you leave this building without me you are going back to prison."

"Sure thing, pal. I just need to stop at a nearby gas station to grab a slushy real quick. Be back in a flash."

"Very funny, Neal."

"..."

"Neal?"

"..."

"Caffrey!"

"..."

"Unbelievable."

* * *

"Peter?"

Neal tapped at the door with the flashlight he had bought at the gas station. Two slurps of his blueberry slushy later, he still had no answer.

"Hello?" Neal jiggled the doorknob, for some reason. Of course it was useless.

When Peter still didn't answer, Neal got very worried. Had something happened to Peter? Had the suspect found him? Did he fall through the floor again? Neal suddenly regretted not calling for help while he had been at the gas station. Peter could have been in trouble.

No time for the pins or other obscure metal tools he had purchased for the purpose of picking the lock. Neal was going to just have to break the door down.

The door looked to be in okay condition, but Neal figured that if the floors were caving in then the door might have been easy to break. Neal backed up, put down his slushy, and charged.

The door was very, very solid. So was this floor, Neal found out, when he bounced off of the door and landed on his rear end in the middle of the dark corridor.

Neal stood up and rubbed his shoulder. Okay. Dumb idea. So he kicked it.

This time, Neal landed right on his slushy.

"Cold!" Neal yelped, springing back up. The he walked up to the door and glared at it. This was getting ridiculous. Neal had seen Peter bust open a door before. It hadn't looked so hard.

"That doesn't work when the door is locked."

Neal whipped around at the sound of the voice and pointed his flashlight to the end of the hall. There was Peter, leaning against the wall a few doors down.

"What?" Peter said, grinning at Neal's look of shock. "You can dish it out, but you can't take it?"

"I... You... How?" Neal stammered.

"The door locked from the inside," Peter answered. "I found it after you left." His eyes diverted to Neal's soaked pants. "How was the slushy?"

Neal clamped his mouth shut and looked away. "Unbelievable," he muttered, tossing Peter the flashlight.

Peter caught it and walked up to Neal. Then he snatched Neal's hat and put it on himself. "Don't mess with me, Caffrey," he said, strutting away.

And without the flashlight, Neal had no choice but to trudge after him.


End file.
